Lenten Reflection – Day 36 of the Great Lent
Today Salvation Has Come to This House: St. Luke 18:31-34; 19:1-10
“For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.” (19:10)
Yesterday was Samiyo Sunday. A man born blind received sight he had never had. Mud. Water. Eyes opened for the first time. “One thing I know: I was blind, now I see.” The six Sunday arc completed. From abundance at Cana through healing, inclusion, finding, and creation. The blind man’s progressive recognition moved from “a man called Jesus” to “Lord, I believe.”
Today Christ is on the road to Jerusalem. He is walking toward the Cross. He knows it. He tells the twelve exactly what will happen. They understand nothing. And immediately after the prediction that no one comprehends, Jesus stops in Jericho and looks up into a tree.
A small man is sitting in the branches. Hiding. Watching. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the teacher from Nazareth without being seen. Without being noticed. Without having to face the crowd that despises him.
Jesus looks up and says: come down. I am coming to your house today.
This is not a healing story. It is something rarer. It is a story about a man who was not sick, not blind, not paralyzed, not demon-possessed. He was rich. He was powerful. He was hated. And he was lost. And the Son of Man came to seek and to save exactly that kind of person.
The Third Prediction of the Passion (18:31–34)
“Then He took the twelve aside and said to them, ‘Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and all things that are written by the prophets concerning the Son of Man will be accomplished. For He will be delivered to the Gentiles and will be mocked and insulted and spit upon. They will scourge Him and kill Him. And the third day He will rise again.’ But they understood none of these things; this saying was hidden from them, and they did not know the things which were spoken.” (18:31–34)
Three times in the Gospels Jesus tells His disciples He is going to die. This is the third. The most detailed. The most specific. Delivered to the Gentiles. Mocked. Insulted. Spit upon. Scourged. Killed. And on the third day, risen.
Every detail is there. The whole Passion laid out in advance. Nothing hidden. Nothing ambiguous. The script is written. The destination is clear.
“But they understood none of these things.”
None. Not part of it. Not most of it. None. Luke uses three phrases to emphasize the incomprehension. They understood none. The saying was hidden from them. They did not know what was spoken. Three ways of saying the same thing. The disciples heard the words and could not process them. The truth entered their ears and could not reach their hearts.
Why?
Because they were not expecting a Messiah who dies. They were expecting a Messiah who conquers. A king on a throne, not a criminal on a cross. The idea that the Son of Man would be handed over to pagans, humiliated, and executed was so far outside their framework that the words passed through them without registering. It was not that they lacked intelligence. It was that they lacked a category. There was no file in their minds labeled “Messiah who gets killed.” So the information had nowhere to land.
On Day 32, Mark told us the disciples’ hearts were hardened because they did not understand about the loaves. Today Luke tells us they understood nothing about the Passion because the saying was hidden from them. The pattern is consistent. The disciples who walked with Jesus, who saw the miracles, who heard the teaching, who watched the dead raised, cannot grasp the one thing that matters most. The Cross.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Commentary on the Diatessaron, writes that the disciples’ incomprehension was not stupidity. It was the human mind’s resistance to the unthinkable. Ephrem says that the Cross is the one truth that cannot be understood before it happens. It can only be understood after. The Resurrection is the lens through which the Cross becomes visible. Before Easter, the Cross is absurd. After Easter, the Cross is everything. The disciples were standing before Easter. And from where they stood, the Cross made no sense. Ephrem does not blame them. He says: we would have understood nothing either.1
This matters for Day 36. Passion Week is approaching. The Cross is no longer on the horizon. It is close. And we are approaching it having spent thirty-five days studying, praying, fasting, and reflecting. We know more than we did on Day 1. But do we understand the Cross?
The honest answer is: not fully. Not yet. The Cross remains, in some deep sense, hidden. We can describe it. We can explain the theology. We can cite the Fathers. But understanding the Cross the way it was meant to be understood requires passing through it. And we have not passed through it yet. We are still on the road to Jerusalem. Like the disciples. Hearing the words. Not yet comprehending.
Zacchaeus in the Tree (19:1-4)
“Then Jesus entered and passed through Jericho. Now behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus who was a chief tax collector, and he was rich. And he sought to see who Jesus was, but could not because of the crowd, for he was of short stature. So he ran ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see Him, for He was going to pass that way.” (19:1-4)
Immediately after the Passion prediction, a new character. Zacchaeus. Luke introduces him with four facts. Chief tax collector. Rich. Seeking to see Jesus. Short.
Chief tax collector. Not an ordinary tax collector like Levi on Day 15. A chief. The boss. The man who managed the other tax collectors. Who took a percentage of everything they collected. Who sat at the top of the system that extracted wealth from ordinary people and funneled it to Rome. He was collaborator-in-chief. The most hated man in Jericho.
Rich. The system had worked well for him. The collaboration had been profitable. He had money. Property. Power. Everything the world measures success by. And none of it had made him welcome in his own city.
Seeking to see Jesus. This is the detail that cracks open the character. The richest, most powerful, most despised man in Jericho wanted to see Jesus. Not to hire Him. Not to challenge Him. Not to test Him. To see Him. Something in Zacchaeus was curious. Hungry. Reaching toward something his wealth could not provide. He had everything money could buy and was climbing a tree to catch a glimpse of a penniless rabbi from Nazareth.
Short. He could not see over the crowd. This is both physical and social. Physically, the crowd blocked his view. Socially, the crowd would not make room for him. No one was going to step aside for the chief tax collector. No one was going to say “excuse me, let Zacchaeus through.” The crowd that hated him formed a wall between him and Jesus.
So he ran ahead and climbed a tree.
A wealthy, powerful, middle-aged man. Running through the streets. Climbing a sycamore tree. Sitting in the branches like a child. Undignified. Ridiculous. Desperate. He could not buy his way to the front. He could not command the crowd to part. He could not use his position or his money to solve this problem. The only option was to make himself small. To climb. To perch in the branches and hope to see without being seen.
St. John Chrysostom, in his homiletical writings on this passage, celebrates Zacchaeus’s willingness to look foolish. He says the tree is the turning point. Everything before the tree was calculation. Wealth. Position. Power. Control. Everything after the tree was surrender. A man who had spent his life being above everyone else (in wealth, in status, in the hierarchy of exploitation) chose to be above everyone else in the most ridiculous possible way. In a tree. Like a child. And that absurd vulnerability was the thing that caught Christ’s eye.2
On Day 15, Levi heard “follow Me” and left the tax booth instantly. Today Zacchaeus, a man further up the tax system than Levi, does not wait to be called. He runs ahead. He climbs. He positions himself in the path of Jesus before Jesus arrives. Levi responded to a call. Zacchaeus anticipated one.
Come Down, I Must Stay at Your House (vv. 5–7)
“And when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and saw him, and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, make haste and come down, for today I must stay at your house.’ So he made haste and came down, and received Him joyfully. But when they saw it, they all complained, saying, ‘He has gone to be a guest with a man who is a sinner.'” (19:5–7)
Jesus looked up. He looked up.
In a crowd pressing around Him. On a road leading to Jerusalem. With the Cross ahead. With the Passion prediction still ringing in the disciples’ uncomprehending ears. In the middle of all of this, Jesus stopped. Looked up. And saw a man in a tree.
He knew the man’s name. “Zacchaeus.” Not “you in the tree” or “the tax collector up there.” Zacchaeus. By name. The man who thought he was hidden in the branches was known. Seen. Named.
“Make haste and come down.” Hurry. Come down. Not a polite invitation. An urgent command. The same urgency as the Passion prediction. Jesus is on a schedule. He is walking toward the Cross. And He stops in Jericho and tells a tax collector to hurry because there is not much time.
“For today I must stay at your house.” Dei. It is necessary. I must. Not “I would like to” or “would you mind if” or “if it is convenient.” I must. The divine necessity. The same word Luke uses for the Passion (“the Son of Man must suffer”). The same compulsion. Jesus must go to the Cross. And Jesus must go to Zacchaeus’s house. The Cross and the sinner’s dining room are on the same itinerary.
“Today.” Not tomorrow. Not after Zacchaeus has repented. Not after he has cleaned up his life. Not after he has returned the stolen money. Today. Now. Before any of that. Christ invites Himself to the sinner’s house before the sinner has done anything to deserve the visit.
On Day 15, Christ went to Levi’s house after calling him. Today Christ invites Himself to Zacchaeus’s house before anything. No call to follow. No commandment. No test. Just: I am coming to your house today.
“He received Him joyfully.” Zacchaeus does not argue. Does not negotiate. Does not say “give me a day to prepare.” He comes down from the tree in a hurry and receives Jesus with joy. The most hated man in Jericho hosts the most beloved man in Israel. And the host is joyful. Not nervous. Not ashamed. Joyful.
“They all complained.” Every single person. Not some. All. “He has gone to be a guest with a man who is a sinner.”
The crowd that would not make room for Zacchaeus is now offended that Jesus made room for him. The wall they formed between Zacchaeus and Jesus has been jumped. Christ went over their heads. Literally. He looked over the crowd and into a tree and found the man everyone else had excluded.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, teaches that Christ’s self-invitation to Zacchaeus’s house is one of the most radical acts of grace in the Gospels. The initiative is entirely Christ’s. Zacchaeus did not ask for a visit. He wanted to see Jesus, not to host Him. He was content with a glimpse from the tree. Christ gave him a houseguest. Cyril says the gap between what Zacchaeus sought (a glimpse) and what Christ gave (His presence at the table) is the gap between human desire and divine generosity. We ask for a crumb. He gives a feast. We climb a tree for a look. He climbs the stairs to our dining room.3
Zacchaeus’s Repentance (vv. 8–9)
“Then Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, ‘Look, Lord, I give half of my goods to the poor; and if I have taken anything from anyone by false accusation, I restore fourfold.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house, because he also is a son of Abraham.'” (19:8–9)
No one asked Zacchaeus to repent. No one demanded restitution. No one said “sell everything and give to the poor.” Christ did not present terms. He did not negotiate conditions. He said “I am coming to your house.” And in the presence of Christ at his table, Zacchaeus’s heart broke open.
“I give half of my goods to the poor.”
Not a tithe. Not ten percent. Half. Fifty percent of everything. The man whose entire life has been about accumulating wealth gives half of it away in a single sentence. And he does not sound reluctant. He sounds like a man who has suddenly seen his wealth for what it is. An obstacle. A wall between himself and the people he has been exploiting. And he wants the wall down.
“If I have taken anything from anyone by false accusation, I restore fourfold.”
The law required a thief to restore double (Exodus 22:4) or in some cases fourfold (Exodus 22:1, for stolen livestock). Zacchaeus offers the maximum. He does not wait to be convicted. He does not argue about the amount. He offers more than the law demands. Because the presence of Christ at his table has done something the law never could. It has shown him who he is. And who he is, is a thief. And the only honest response to seeing yourself as a thief is to give back more than you stole.
On Day 25, the rich young ruler was asked to sell everything and give to the poor. He went away sorrowful because he could not let go. Today Zacchaeus is asked for nothing and gives away half of everything. No one demanded it. The presence of Christ produced it.
The difference between the rich young ruler and Zacchaeus is not moral character. Both were wealthy. Both were confronted by Christ. Both had to decide what to do with their possessions. The difference is where they met Christ. The rich young ruler met Christ on the road and was given a command. Zacchaeus met Christ at his own table and was given a presence. The command produced sorrow. The presence produced joy. The command demanded obedience. The presence inspired generosity.
This is not a criticism of commands. Christ gives commands. They are good. But today’s passage reveals something the series has not yet explored. The most radical transformation in the Gospels was produced not by a command but by a dinner invitation. Not by “sell everything” but by “I must stay at your house today.” The presence of Christ at the table did in one evening what years of preaching could not do. It changed a thief into a giver. Not by force. By proximity.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Hymns on the Church, writes about the power of Christ’s table presence. He says that when Christ sits at a sinner’s table, the table becomes an altar. The food becomes a sacrament. The conversation becomes a confession. The host is not serving a guest. The host is being served by the Guest. Ephrem says Zacchaeus thought he was inviting Jesus to dinner. In reality, Jesus was inviting Zacchaeus to salvation. The table was the meeting point. And at that table, everything changed.4
“Today salvation has come to this house.”
Today. Not “salvation will come when you have completed the restitution.” Not “salvation will arrive after you have proven your sincerity.” Today. The salvation is present tense. It arrived with Jesus. It walked through the door when He walked through the door. It sat down when He sat down. The presence of Christ is the salvation. Everything else is the response to the salvation that has already arrived.
“Because he also is a son of Abraham.”
On Day 28, Christ called the bent woman “a daughter of Abraham.” Today He calls Zacchaeus “a son of Abraham.” The chief tax collector. The collaborator. The thief. A son of Abraham. Not because of his behaviour. Because of his belonging. His identity was never in question. The crowd questioned it. The Pharisees questioned it. Zacchaeus himself may have questioned it. But Christ did not. You are Abraham’s son. You have always been. The sin did not change that. The exploitation did not erase it. And the repentance did not create it. It was there all along. Under the wealth. Under the corruption. Under the tree. A son of Abraham hiding in the branches.
To Seek and to Save the Lost (v. 10)
“For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.” (19:10)
The final verse. The summary of everything.
“The Son of Man has come to seek.” Not to wait. Not to receive those who come to Him. To seek. To go looking. To search actively for the lost. To walk through Jericho with the Cross ahead and stop to look up into a tree because a lost man is hiding there.
“And to save.” Not to condemn. Not to evaluate. Not to sort the worthy from the unworthy. To save. This is the purpose statement of the Incarnation. The mission statement of the life of Christ. Everything else is secondary. The teaching serves the saving. The healing serves the saving. The miracles serve the saving. The Cross serves the saving. All of it exists because the Son of Man came to seek and to save.
“That which was lost.” Lost. Not evil. Lost. Zacchaeus was not a monster. He was lost. He had taken a wrong road years ago and followed it until he could no longer find his way back. The money was the wrong road. The collaboration was the wrong road. The exploitation was the wrong road. And each step down the wrong road took him further from the place he belonged. Until he was sitting in a tree, isolated from his own community, watching the world pass below him, unable to reach the one person who could bring him home.
St. Macarius the Great, in his Spiritual Homilies, teaches that the word “lost” is the most important word in the verse. He says Christ did not come for the wicked. He came for the lost. The wicked person has chosen evil. The lost person has wandered from good. The distinction matters because it determines how we see people. If we see sinners as wicked, we condemn them. If we see sinners as lost, we search for them. Christ saw Zacchaeus not as a wicked man but as a lost son. And the response to a lost son is not punishment. It is seeking. Finding. Bringing home.5
What This Means for Day 36
The Cross is ahead. The Passion prediction has been spoken. The disciples understand nothing. And on the road to the Cross, Jesus stops to save a tax collector.
This is what the Cross is for. Not for the righteous. Not for the people who have their theology sorted out. Not for the disciples who understand the Passion. For the lost. For the man in the tree. For the person who is too short to see over the crowd and too ashamed to push through it. For the person who has been hiding in the branches hoping for a glimpse without being noticed. For the person who never expected Jesus to stop, look up, and say his name.
Thirty-six days of fasting. We have been studying the Cross. Reflecting on it. Preparing for it. But have we understood what it is for? It is for Zacchaeus. It is for the lost. It is for the person who sits at the table with Jesus and suddenly sees, in the light of that presence, everything he has stolen and everything he owes. And it is for the moment when that person gives half of everything away and offers fourfold restitution and discovers that the giving is not loss. It is freedom.
The Cross is not a punishment. It is the ultimate dinner invitation. The Son of Man inviting Himself to the house of the lost. Sitting down at the table. And watching everything change.
For Our Journey Today
Come down from the tree. Are you hiding? From God? From the community? From the truth about yourself? Zacchaeus climbed the tree to see without being seen. Christ said: come down. I see you. You do not need to hide in the branches. You do not need to watch from a distance. Come down. Come to the table. Today.
Let the presence do the work. You do not need another command today. You have had thirty-five days of commands. Fast more. Pray harder. Give generously. Forgive seven times. Run to win. Stretch out your hand. Today, no command. Just presence. Let Christ sit at your table. Let His presence in your house do what commands could not. The most radical transformation in the Gospels was not produced by a demand. It was produced by a dinner guest. Invite Him in. Sit down. And let the proximity change you.
Give back. If the presence of Christ at your table has shown you something you need to return, return it. Not under compulsion. Not because you were commanded. Because you have seen, in the light of His presence, what you took. And the honest response is to give it back. With interest. Not grudgingly. Joyfully. The way Zacchaeus did. As though the giving were the first truly free act of his entire life.
Lord Jesus Christ, who walked through Jericho on the way to the Cross and stopped to look up into a tree, look up at us today. We are hiding. In the branches. In the wealth. In the reputation. In the performance of the fast. We climbed up to see You without being seen. And You stopped. You said our name. You invited Yourself to our house. We did not deserve the visit. We had not repented yet. We had not changed anything. But You came anyway. And at the table, in Your presence, we saw ourselves clearly for the first time. The things we have taken. The people we have hurt. The wrong roads we have followed. And we want to give it back. All of it. With interest. Not because You demanded it. Because Your presence made the keeping unbearable. Today salvation has come to this house. Not because we earned it. Because You sought us. Because You came to seek and to save that which was lost. And we were lost. Sitting in a tree. Hoping for a glimpse. And You gave us a feast. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Evangelist Luke, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
Patristic References
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373) – Commentary on the Diatessaron. ↩︎
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407) – Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (NPNF), Series I, Vol. 10: Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew (for related themes) and homiletical excerpts on Luke available at newadvent.org and ccel.org. ↩︎
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444) – Commentary on the Gospel of Luke. ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373) – Hymns on the Church (Madrāshē d-ʿal ʿEdtā). ↩︎
- St. Macarius the Great (c. 300–391) – Spiritual Homilies (Homiliae Spirituales) ↩︎
